Bethberry lay still, hearing the muffled movements of the others and knowing that some fell creature disturbed their thoughts even as she was untouched. This creature was scenting something.
Very well, thought Bethberry, let it work harder for what or whom it seeks.
She let out a low caw-ca-ca-chuck, distorted as if it came from the thicket and shortly Wyrd flew into the camp, not in a swift dive but lazily, as if searching. He flew around to the edge where the remains of dinner had been buried and picked through the dirt with his beak. Finding the badger's musk gland, he caught it in his claws, rapidly ascended high above the camp, and then circled back, crying as if challenging any hawk or other falcon. Then, diving suddenly, he dropped the gland by the fell creature. A heady, musky odour permeated the site, like a heavy fog masking the ground.
Bethberry wondered if anyone would remember the song she had sung for Moridel to explain how she came by her forest lore.
By that pool long ago
I bid a sad farewell,
To wander wide and far ahome.
I seek my mother's gladsome songs
throughout this Middle Earth.
Her voice untimely silenced be,
Yet still can mortal heart set free:
'O wind on the waterfall and the leaves' laughter,'
May the pure clear River spirit
Mellow time's disaster.
__________________
I’ll sing his roots off. I’ll sing a wind up and blow leaf and branch away.
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